Acquiesce
by Val-Creative
Summary: "I'm gonna take care of you from now on," FP insists. A mischievous and wistful light to his smile. "No more taking care of me, got it?" /Canon AU. Future AU. FPxJughead. Oneshot.


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 **.**

"I miss you. Don't do this, please."

It's a proclamation, carrying his guilt, his self-loathing and love. FP — _his_ _Dad_ — cups his face and draws him closer with rough and worn palms. He's warm and familiar, thumbing over the small, healed scar to Jughead's cheek.

A tightness unlike anything — it expands within Jughead's lungs, fees like wet rags stuffed inside. Like he's beginning to suffocate.

Jughead loves his dad, but he can't _stay_ in this trailer and watch him spiral down, over and over.

But... what can he do? This is his _family_.

He feels so… _so_ lost.

"You always gave me a chance when I didn't deserve it, Jug." Red-rimmed eyes gaze into Jughead's blue ones. "I love you so much, kiddo," FP tells him, honesty gusting in every breath, in every molecule humming between them.

 _I love you_ flutters in Jughead's pulse, heightening the drowsy, daydream sensation when he dry-pecks Jughead's chapped lips.

 _I love you_ grazes its memory into pinpricks of heat and thorns, where FP's dark stubble rubs against Jughead's skin. The older man tilts his head and kisses him again, more openly, deep and claiming, licking along Jughead's molars.

 _I love you_ forms out of guilt and persuasion.

"This okay?" FP mutters, eyes half-closed, nudging their foreheads together.

Ridges of blackish-grey oil outline under his untrimmed fingernails. Jughead notices that first. There's an aftertaste like whiskey and ashes of cigarettes lingering on Jughead's tongue. His mouth feels impossibly swollen, raw and aching.

After a long, silent minute, Jughead swallows audibly, nodding but lips frowning.

He _hates_ the little tremor coming from himself. Hands thrust greedily under the flannel borrowed off of Archie, smoothing up Jughead's back as if comforting him.

"I'm gonna take care of you from now on," FP insists. A mischievous and wistful light to his smile. "No more taking care of me, got it?"

The eighteen-year-old squirms, groaning and fully embarrassed when his ripped, blue jeans are shoved down, along with his boxers, freeing up his dick beginning to harden. Jughead chews on his bottom lip, staring.

" _Dad_ —"

"Shh, shh, you're alright," FP whispers, pressing their lips into a _sweeter_ kiss, but it's crawling and deceptive. A _serpent's_ kiss if anything. Jughead wants to protest, to scream out his frustration and anger, but he _doesn't_.

FP kneels down between Jughead's legs, grasping his hips. "You're gonna come live with me, alright? Don't you miss me too?"

" _Yeah_ ," rasps out of Jughead's throat, without second thought. He cries out suddenly, jerking into the hot, dripping-wet cavern of FP's mouth, when it sucks Jughead's cock brutally hard.

He pants and buries his fingers into FP's greasy, tangled mess of hair, unable to thrust while pinned down. Jughead's stomach clenches.

Please.

 _Please_.

It feels like an eternity before FP pulls off his dick, the rim of his lips glistening with saliva and Jughead's semen. Did he even _get off_?

The taste of himself is gross, _slimy_ and overheated. Jughead tenses into the snug, possessive embrace, but moves obediently when FP wordlessly urges the other man into his lap.

He rolls and pushes his tongue lightly against FP's, only sighing out and relaxing when hands hold and caress his face once more.

"You're pretty good at this, Jug — you been practicing kissing with Archie or something?"

Jughead knows he's only _half_ joking, if anything. FP has caught him and Archie "practice-kissing" one time in middle school, in Jughead's treehouse.

"I had a girlfriend," he deadpans.

 _Briefly_.

"I remember," FP says thoughtfully, combing dark, soft bangs out of Jughead's blinking eyes. "Alice's girl, wasn't she? She was a pretty one."

"I don't want to talk about Betty."

There's an edge of _steel_ in Jughead's voice, and FP smirks widely, leaning into him.

"Consider the subject over, kiddo."

Jughead's lungs feel the same earlier tightness return, when FP's muscular arms shift him, easing Jughead's body on top of him.

He can't _stay_.

But… maybe they can _leave_ together. Away from this rotted sofa, and this rotten town.

Maybe then, Jughead won't feel so lost.

 **.**

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* * *

 _Requested! The prompt came off the Riverdale Kink Meme on Dreamwidth: "Jughead/FP, fucked up (sexual persuasion)"!_


End file.
